The Venice of Botswana.

This is a horrible thing to admit, but I did zero research before taking this trip and could barely even name the countries I was visiting, let alone the specific sites. But the positive side of my unpreparedness is that I've been pleasantly surprised at every turn. And the Okavango Delta in Botswana was beyond anything I could have imagined.

The Delta is made up of hundreds of small islands surrounded by shallow, reedy water that attracts almost every form of wildlife in Africa. To really appreciate it, you have to spend some time away from any villages--preferably in complete isolation on a small island. Which is exactly what I did. To get there, I took a Mokoro--a canoe-type boat that is manned by a "poler" kind of like the gondoliers of Venice. Only instead of house-lined waterways, we were poled down canals carved through a sea of reeds. It's possibly one of the most relaxing and beautiful ways a person can spend an hour-and-a-half.

My poler was a man named Wiz, and during an afternoon of downtime, his nephew, Excuse, gave me a lesson on the intricacies of their profession. It ain't easy. Especially for a spaghetti-armed, spindle-legged stork such as myself. Though I didn't ever flip the boat, I think Excuse was a very happy man when his feet were once again planted on solid ground.

Our days on the island were filled with nature walks where I became an expert on the poo of just about every animal in Africa. It's actually surprisingly interesting stuff. We also took Mokoro rides to look for the hippos we could hear grunting outside our tents in the middle of the night.

But the best part of the trip was the polers, themselves. They were all really cool, and I spent a lot of time playing UNO (or "one card left") with them during the hottest hours of the day. At night around the campfire, they tried to teach us some of their traditional songs and dances, but when it came our turn to reciprocate, we were at a bit of a loss. What's a traditional American song other than the national anthem? The best we could come up with was Bye Bye Miss American Pie for the song and the Hokey Pokey for the dance. I was embarrassed on behalf of my entire country.

However, this just highlighted my ever increasing willingness to make an ass out of myself. Which, if I'm completely honest, I think is a good thing.

Guerrilla trekking.

Why do people write their names on bathroom stalls or carve their initials on trees? Because they want to leave something behind just to say they were there. That, for a moment in time, they existed in that specific place.

Enter the newly minted ShanAsh guerrilla marketing campaign. I had my friend make up these stickers (thanks Anna!) that we've been leaving in strategic places along our route to mark our journey. Look for them in a city near you.

Over, under, and on the Mighty Zambezi.

Victoria Falls, the Seventh Wonder of the Natural World, was created by the Zambezi River washing away soft rock along ancient fault lines. The current falls are not the original, but you can actually see the zig-zag pattern of the gorge--each turn marking the end points of a former site. They estimate that in another 10,000 years, there will be a new Victoria Falls as the Zambezi continues to cut its path.

But today, in their current position, they're one of the most powerful, overwhelming, and spectacular things I've ever seen. Photos don't do them justice--they're over a mile across from the Zambia to the Zimbabwe side, so it's virtually impossible to fully comprehend their size without physically exploring them for yourself. Video is no good either--you can't feel the mist that turns into rain the closer you get to the edge. Nor can you feel the fear they inspire. There's no going over Victoria Falls in a barrel. There's no going over at all and having any hope of surviving. But for all that, they're incredibly beautiful. It's hard to drag your eyes away. To me, it was like witnessing a gift from God.

OVER: And what better way to take in a celestial present than by viewing it from the heavens? Melissa and I took a helicopter ride above the Falls, which was an incredible experience. I've never been on a helicopter before, and was kind of struck by the contrast of man's ingenuity and the untameable forces of nature.

UNDER: After seeing the Zambezi from above, I decided I needed a more up-close and personal look in the form of whitewater rafting. It was a very different experience than the Nile in Uganda--rather than being huge and terrifying with long lulls in between, it was more nonstop action with the added danger of crocodiles (we saw them sunning on the rocks as we rafted by)and whirlpools at every turn. We only flipped once, which was more than enough to get a thorough taste of the Zambezi.

ON: Next up was a canoeing wine drift. Imagine gliding along perfectly still waters, the distant sound of drumbeats combining with the music of wildlife all around you, with a never-depleted glass of wine in your hand. At the risk of sounding like Katie Holmes, I'm going to describe it as magical--made even more so by the company of two of my best friends.

Now, imagine that serene setting shattered by the sudden appearance of a charging hippo. At any other time, it would be terrifying, but mostly drunk on wine, it was actually the perfect punctuation to one of my best evenings in Africa so far. Though I fill my days with things like helicopter rides, scuba diving, and whitewater rafting, the times I think I'll remember most are the ones that involve just sitting back and taking it all in.

Barfarama.

*This one's from the archives. I just forgot to post it earlier.

For those of you thinking of taking the ferry from Zanzibar to Dar es Salaam, be forewarned: business can get ugly. You know the scene in Stand By Me when Lardass drinks the castor oil at the pie eating contest, vomits, and sparks an all-out barfarama? That's what you can expect. And not just from the muzungu tourists. The lady sitting next to me snuck a sick bag under her burqa to be violently ill for two hours straight. There were kids laying in the aisles performing synchronized puking tricks. Young. Old. Black. White. Barf knows no boundaries. Except for me. I escaped relatively unscathed, the only assault being on my delicate nostrils.

Faaaaantastic...

My friend's Dad measures his success as a parent by the company his daughter keeps. He says friends are a reflection of self, and you can't have quality friends if you, yourself, are a bad person. This makes me feel that I must be doing something right in life because I always manage to be surrounded by the loveliest, kindest, most generous people. And this post is dedicated to one of my all-time favorites.

Today, after a month of African adventures, I had to say goodbye to Melissa. It seems like only yesterday that she arrived bearing tinctures, fiber bars, and the world's best sense of humor. She's been the person I've turned to, not only in Africa, but in everyday life over the past five years in San Francisco. She staved off my early loneliness in a new city. She encouraged me to go new places and try new things. And she's been an unfailingly supportive friend since day one, which is especially impressive considering that on day one, I was incredibly drunk and obnoxious on the SF Addy Awards party boat.

So, Melissa, thanks for a great five years across three continents. Have a safe journey home. And know that someone in Africa is missing you. I look forward to seeing you back in SF and again next year in New Zealand.

Parasite paranoia.

According to the Lonely Planet, 50% of people who go in Lake Malawi end up with a parasite that, after a two-month incubation period, attacks your genital region and causes you to pee blood. Knowing this, many in our group have been understandably paranoid. This is a story born of that paranoia.

A friend told me that when she was in the bathroom (squat toilet lit only by her head torch), she saw what looked like a tape worm emerging from her nether regions. A big freak-out ensued. However, gathering the courage born of necessity, she decided to take care of the situation and pull the sucker out. Gritting her teeth and calming her gag reflex, she grabbed on and gave it a yank...

...and her tampon fell out.

Just to clarify, this time it was NOT me. But hilarious just the same.

Why I Thought Peeing My Pants Was a Smart Idea by Ashley

Ever since I was a kid, I wake up in the middle of the night, every night to go to the bathroom. No matter how few liquids I imbibe during the day, I cannot avoid this.

When you are camping in the wiles of Africa, getting up to pee in the pitch dark is not only inconvenient, but terrifying. This lead me to seriously weigh the pros and cons of wetting my pants while in the Serengeti.

The campsite for the Serengeti is literally in the middle of the Serengeti amidst all the shit you see on National Geographic. There are animal tracks and droppings all around the perimeter of the camp, so you know they are not keeping a safe distance. In fact, we had heard that lions have invaded the camp on several occasions, causing everyone to flee to the safari vehicles for the night. Supposedly another camper was nearly trampled to death by an elephant while in their tent. As soon as I heard these stories upon arriving at the camp, my first thought was "This is going to create some real issues when I get up to pee tonight."

Without fail, around 2:00 a.m. I awoke with a bursting bladder. And my bladder does not negotiate.

All I could hear were the terrifying, ungodly howls of hyenas all around. If you've never heard a hyena howl, it sounds like a freakish animal/ghost/creature that wants to suck marrow out of your bones (that third part is pretty much what they do). I know, I know, they are scavengers and don't actually kill anything. I was finding logic difficult to cling to amidst their terrifying sounds.

Could I make it to the bathroom? It was 150 feet away. Even if I ran in the dark, there would be lots of time for a pack of hyenas to get at me. What's that? The howls are getting closer and growing in number? Dear God. Should I pee my pants? How would I wash my sleeping bag? How would I explain this to Shannon? Would the pee smell ever come out of the tent? Would the smell of my pee ATTRACT the hyenas even more?

It was a quandry.

In the end, I grabbed a tissue, hopped about 2 feet away from the tent and let loose. I hid the tissue under a rock and that's how I helped turn the Serengeti into the Serenghetto.